Work Text:
Iwaizumi landed on the court at the same time as the ball hit Watari's arms. He frowned, watching it bounce and go back over the net, straight into Oikawa's hands.
The captain smirked. “Great job, Watari! Iwa-chan, did you forget the rules? The ball is supposed to hit the ground, not the libero-”
“Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi interrupted him, rolling his eyes. “Shut up and set the ball.”
He turned his gaze towards the net, ready to spike. On the other side of the court, Watari prepared to receive. Iwaizumi noticed that the libero's arms were already red and decided to lessen the power of the spike in favor of a better accuracy.
“So rude,” Oikawa sighed, bouncing the ball absentmindedly. “What do you think, Matsun? Is this what happens when you have more muscles than brain?”
Iwaizumi clenched his fists, ignoring the usual desire to hit Oikawa. Or to shut him up. Somehow. He heard Matsukawa laugh, “What do I think? I think somebody here spends way too much time observing Iwaizumi's muscles. Somebody with stick arms, perhaps?”
“Matsun, it's not true! Iwa-chan, tell him I don't have stick arms!”
“Oh oh oh, why then-”
Iwaizumi sighed and let the sound of their voices subside, until it became a familiar background noise. He motioned for Watari to take a five-minute break and raised his arms behind his shoulders to stretch the muscles.
The exam period had just begun and, after the stressful Interhigh tournament, the team needed a few days of rest: a lighter workout (by Aoba Johsai standards), some extra breaks, a friendly discussion between the setter and the middle blocker ...
After drinking a few sips from his bottle and checking that all the underclassmen were busy practicing whatever Oikawa had told them to practice, Iwaizumi decided it was time to get back to work.
“Matsukawa, stop distracting the captain,” he said, resuming his position on Oikawa's left, “Sweetheart, stop being your annoying self for just five minutes and concentrate.”
Behind him, Matsukawa dropped the ball.
It bounced and bounced in the absolute silence of the gym. Iwaizumi turned to his friends, confused.
“O-M-G!” Matsukawa spelled. His eyes were as big as saucers. Beside him, Hanamaki covered his mouth with his hands in an overly dramatic gesture.
Iwaizumi frowned. “What?”
Oikawa seemed to have lost the ability to compose complete sentences. Iwaizumi saw him pale and then blush violently within ten seconds. “You-you said-”
“What did I say? That you're annoying? It's hardly the first time-”
“You called him 'sweetheart'!” Matsukawa wheezed. Hanamaki, impassive, patted him on the back to try and reboot his breathing.
Iwaizumi widened his eyes. “What, no, it's not true.”
Oikawa, who seemed to have recovered quickly, jumped on his best friend with a little hop and a cheerful “Iwa-chan!”. He hung on Iwaizumi's arm, a toothy smile on his face. “You did!”
“Shittykawa, stop it!”
“You did! You said that!” The setter hummed.
“I'm going to hit you.”
Oikawa let go of his arm and picked up the ball, pouting. “Iwa-chan, you're mean.”
Iwaizumi rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, feeling himself blush. From the corner of his eye he saw Oikawa return to his position and bounce the ball. He couldn't help staring at him for a few seconds. This time the smile that lightened up Oikawa's face was Iwaizumi's favorite: genuine.